The Viking Saga Page 17

  And then Arkil gave the cry of the sparrowhawk, and all men saw him break cover and run shouting towards the cave, Harald close on his heels. As the Vikings rose, baying like hounds, the slaves dropped their burdens and their torches and ran screaming back to their boats. Some of them dived into the lake and began to swim for the other side, made afraid by the terrible appearance of the attackers.

  Harald entered the cave five paces after Arkil, but even so was too late to save his friend. Grummoch was holding Arkil’s body as though it had been a child’s doll made from rags, swinging it like a bundle of straw, as he turned to face the onrush of Vikings. And all saw, in the torchlight, that Arkil’s brave head was loose on his neck. They had no further need to speculate on his fate.

  As Harald ran whooping at the giant, Grummoch flung Arkil’s body at him, sweeping the boy aside. But as Harald fell, he saw Haro Once-only, his sword between his teeth as he tore off his shirt, racing at the giant. There was a great roar, and then Harald got to his feet once more to see the Vikings swarming round their gigantic opponent like hounds about a stag.

  How long that grim battle went on, no one will ever know, but to all men who survived the affair, it seemed like a year rather than an hour.

  Men flew hither and thither, once Grummoch could get a grip on them, and then lay gasping and coughing out their life on the floor of that terrible cavern. But at last sheer weight of numbers bore the giant down, and Harald came suddenly behind him and struck him with all his force at the base of the neck with the flat of his sword.

  Grummoch gave a loud groan and sank down, dragging six men with him. Goff Goffling, who fell beneath the giant in that tumble, gave a high shout and then lay still for ever.

  In his berserker fury that Grummoch should have killed Arkil, Haro Once-only, whose right arm dangled limply by his side, would have run his sword through the giant with his left hand; but Harald stopped him, saying that they might use him as a beast of burden, if he was not wounded too badly.

  The irony of this pleased the Vikings, and they set to, to bind the giant with all the leg-strappings and ropes they could find.

  And when the count of the dead was made, they found that they had bought their victory dearly, for of the sixteen Northmen who had waited outside the cavern that night, only nine would live to share the treasure. Among the dead were Arkil, Goff Goffling, Sven Hawknose and Kran the Lark. Their comrades wept that such fine warriors should be sent packing to Valhalla so hurriedly, and without their treasure.

  But when they carried the torches to the far end of the cavern and saw what they had gained by their battle, even those Vikings who had loved the dead men best were forced to agree that such a price was not excessive for the riches that were now theirs.

  Piled high against the far wall were sacks of Frankish and English gold; goblets and trenchers of rich Miklagard ware; coronets and sceptres such as would have rejoiced the heart of a score of Caesars; and swords and scabbards of such richness that the Vikings almost wept to see their flashing beauty.

  Harald stood gazing, amazed, at the show before his eyes, when suddenly Grummoch began to groan and tried to sit up. Four of the Vikings flung him back and sat on him to keep him down. He glared up at them and rolled his eyes horribly.

  But at last he felt able to speak and then he said, ‘It comes to every man that one day his dearest treasures shall be taken from him. I have worked hard for mine, but the will of the gods is stronger than my own arms. I do not complain. He who is strongest shall deserve the most. I am glad that I was beaten by real warriors, and not by the minions of that lapdog MacMiorog; moreover, if the truth be told, I am glad that I put an end to so many before you others got me down. I can say no more.’

  Then Harald replied, ‘Grummoch, you speak like a true man and a great warrior. Will you come with us as a slave, or shall we put a sword into you now and have done with you? It is your right to choose.’

  And then giant Grummoch said, ‘It was foretold in my runes when I was a little lad that I should one day become a slave to men of three colours – golden, black, and red. You, I see, my boy, have golden hair, so that is the first part of my rune come to pass. I do not complain. Now let me rise.’

  But the wily Vikings would have none of that. Radbard Crookleg, who was skilled in blacksmithery, got out a pair of gyves which he had forged the day before in Dun-an-oir, and with the help of three others beat them on to the ankles of Grummoch, who groaned loudly all the while, saying that he would do them no harm if they let him get up freely.

  And when at last the job was done, they cut his bonds and he rubbed his great arm muscles and grinned like anyone else. He was in a way sorry, he said, to have killed Arkil, for he had always had a soft spot for the Danish prince, although he had known all along that he must one day kill him.

  The Vikings were sitting about in the cave, sharing their dried meat with Grummoch, when suddenly the entrance was lit up with the flames from many torches. King MacMiorog stood there, surrounded by his guards, smiling evilly as he gazed at Grummoch.

  Harald said, ‘Well, King, we have captured your giant, and now we shall go on our way with his treasure as we arranged in your hall.’

  But MacMiorog said, ‘Yes, you will go on your way, but without his treasure. For that I regard as being mine, after all the suffering I have endured from this giant these many years.’

  Then he nodded to his guards and two of them stepped forward, their swords drawn, to put an end to Grummoch. But Harald and his men rose and stood before the giant, to protect him.

  ‘Step closer at your peril,’ shouted Radbard, his smith’s hammer still in his hand. ‘This giant is ours, to do with as we please now, for he is our slave, and his treasure is ours likewise.’

  Then MacMiorog gave a shout of anger and called on his men to rush in and finish the Vikings; but such was their fierce appearance in the torchlight, with the blood still on them, and their faces twisted in anger at the betrayal, that the King’s men thought twice about it, and would not do as MacMiorog said.

  So, followed by the taunts of the Vikings, and the highpitched laughter of the captive giant, the King and his men made their way back across the lake.

  And when they had gone, Grummoch said, ‘From now on he is your bitter enemy. He will poison you if you eat the food he offers. He will do all he can to kill you while you are in his land. Take my advice, and let us all go round to the back of the city without delay, for there are my own ox-wagons and oxen. We might well use them to get to wherever we are going, and for my own part, I should be glad of a change of scenery for this flat green plain is bad for my temper and my rheumatism.’

  And so it was that the Vikings loaded the treasure on to the rafts and at last on to the ox-wagons and set out towards the coast once more, even before the sun rose.

  Their dead comrades they left in the cavern, lying side by side, each man holding his weapon so that he should be able to protect himself and his dead comrades in the long journey that must be made through the darkness to the land of everlasting light.

  Grummoch agreed to roll the boulder back across the mouth of the cave, so that no man should ever disturb them again.

  6. The Bargainers

  On the journey back to Murdea, it was agreed that Grummoch should be allowed to travel on one of the wagons, since his heavy leg-gyves made walking extremely painful to him. In return for this kindness, the giant went out of his way to make himself as friendly as possible to the Vikings, sometimes playing to them on a little bone flute which he always carried, and on which he was a marvellously clever performer, and sometimes by telling them stories to while away the time. Usually, these tales were told in a high voice, punctuated by many interruptions when Grummoch stopped to laugh at one of his own jokes for he was an inveterate leg-puller, and for a giant had an amusing sense of humour.

  Harald came to like him in the three days during which the wagon train wound its way towards the coast, and he would often sit alongside the gi
ant, listening to his yarns.

  He learned that Grummoch came from a poor farming family in Caledonia, one of many children, all the rest of them being of a normal size. When Grummoch was still small – only twice as big as he should have been – he had beaten many boys three times his age in fair fighting, but had always been thrashed when he got home for bullying his fellows. Also, he was in constant trouble for being greedy, when in fact he had eaten only half as much as he needed for that big body of his. He told Harald that from the start his mother hated him, for even as a baby he exhausted her, so that she could not carry him about or nurse him. Later, as he grew older, the other young lads of the steading refused to let him share their sports of wrestling or javelin-throwing because he always won; while the girls ran screaming from him if he asked them to dance in the harvest festivities.

  The only thing his village would let him do was to work; and every farmer vied for his services when there was any manure to load, trees to cut down, grain to draw, ditches to dig. Yet though he did three times as much as a normal man, he was always cheated when it came to being paid, for it was commonly held in Grummoch’s steading that the gods had given him a big body but a small brain.

  Grummoch stood this treatment for some years, he told Harald, and then one day he decided he would not tolerate it any longer; so he began by filling the village pond with boulders which no men could ever drag out from the mud again; then he rolled two great hay-wains down a hill, breaking down twenty yards of dry stone walling in the process; after which he went into the church and pulled on the bell-ropes so hard that the top of the tower came down through the roof and shattered the font.

  After that, he had to go on his travels, for all men’s hands were turned against him. Even his mother shouted out down the road after him that she hoped never to see his evil face again.

  ‘But,’ said Grummoch almost tearfully as he told Harald of this, ‘it comes on me more and more often that the one thing I would most love would be to see my dear mother again, before it is too late.’

  Bit by bit, the Vikings got the rest of his story; how he walked to the coast, stole a curragh and sailed it single-handed to Ireland; how he begged his bread there, playing on his flute and performing deeds of strength; how one day he overcame a great champion at a fair in the Blue Mountains; and how at last he took service with King MacMiorog, and seeing that monarch’s great luxury, decided that he too would amass such a fortune as would one day buy him a royal bride.

  He ended his story by saying, ‘And that was just what I had managed. It was her dowry that I was bringing home the night you attacked me. But for you, I might now be the son-in-law of the High King himself. Alas, alas!’

  But Grummoch was by nature a light-hearted creature, and soon he was fluting again, as merrily as ever. Indeed, his company was so diverting that before the Vikings reached Murdea again, their sorrow for the loss of Arkil and their comrades had much abated. For that was the way of life, they agreed; one met a man, and then lost him – all as Odin wished. It was best to accept what the gods decided, without complaining, for whether one wept or not, it made no difference. As for Grummoch, he had soon accepted the fact that his treasure was lost to him, but Harald told him that if he would come back with them to the village by the fjord, he would arrange it that old Thorn should accept him as a villager and should pay him a share equal to that which every other man would get; at which Grummoch seemed genuinely pleased.

  Two miles out of Murdea, the wagon train came upon a party of Danes, who were riding on stolen horses inland. They were greatly interested in the giant and in the contents of the wagons, and when Harald told them the story, their greedy dark eyes lit up so brightly that had they not been put off by the looks of the wagon-party they would have attacked there and then.

  Their leader, a gaunt-faced man called Riggall, said that he was anxious to profit even if only a little by the meeting, and suggested that since they would need a ship to carry their treasure home, he would sell them his ship, which lay in the harbour at Murdea, for one sack of treasure.

  But Harald said, ‘We too have a ship lying in the harbour at Murdea. It is a blackened hulk and lies at the bottom, among the eels. No doubt your ship lies alongside it, if we know anything of the people of that town!’

  From the look on the Dane’s face, the others could see that Harald’s words had hit their target.

  But the Dane was not to be beaten, ‘Look you, bargainer,’ he said, ‘in three days, my own son-in-law, Borg, will pull into Murdea with a small ship, just such as could be managed by a small crew, as you yourselves are. Give him my ring, and tell him to sell you his boat fairly. Say that if he does not, I will give him a taste of my belt when I see him again.’

  Harald took the ring and thanked him. The Dane held his hand for a moment and said, ‘Is this not worth something, dear friend?’ And he kept holding Harald’s own hand so tightly that at last the boy signed to Grummoch, who flung the man a hunting-knife set with amber, and with a hilt carved in the shape of a prancing horse. This pleased the Dane so much that he shouted after them, ‘And tell my son-in-law, Borg, that he must deal kindly with you or I will find my daughter another husband.’

  So it was that they came to Murdea once more, to be met by a shower of arrows fired from the very church tower which they had spared on their way inland.

  This time Radbard Crookleg was hurt in the neck. The shaft entered at one side and came out at the other. This angered his comrades so much that before Harald could stop them, they had barricaded the doors of the place, and, setting faggots of wood before it, had set light to it.

  Grummoch consoled Harald on the way down to the harbour by saying that he had seen with his own eyes the priest and five men climb out of a little window at the back; so they at least would be safe.

  ‘Why did you not tell the men, so that they could have driven them back into the flames?’ asked Harald, wondering.

  Grummoch shrugged his shoulders and took out his little flute. ‘I am a Christian myself, Harald,’ he said. ‘Though I have always been rather a poor one, I fear.’

  Then he began to play a restless little tune, and Harald could get no more out of him.

  They camped at the harbour side, and suffered no more hurt from the men of Murdea, who were impressed by their fierce faces and fine weapons. On the third day, the Danish ship sailed in, and after Harald had given the Dane’s message to Borg, the bargain was made, and the newcomers went on inland with half a sack of treasure and a full team of oxen and wagons.

  Then, by common accord, Harald Sigurdson was named the master of their new ship, which they joined in calling Arkil the Prince, after their dead leader.

  Harald said, ‘By Odin, I swear to deal fairly with you all, and as you deal fairly with me, so may we all prosper. Has any man a word to say to that?’

  As he waited for their answer, the gulls swirled over the heads of the men in the bobbing longship, and the smoke from the hovels at the waterside swept across the oily swell.

  All men were silent, save only Grummoch, who stretched and scratched himself noisily. ‘Yes, shipmaster,’ he said, with a little smile ‘I have a word to say.’

  They looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Say on, Grummoch, then,’ said Harald.

  And giant Grummoch yawned and said, ‘My word is this: let us set sail without any more talk! For I am anxious to see this village of yours!’

  Haro Once-only raised himself from his pallet of straw on the deck and said grimly, ‘That is well said, little giant; for if you had spoken a word against Harald, Radbard and I would have fed you to the seagulls.’

  ‘Yes, in little pieces,’ said Radbard in the high whistling voice that was his since his arrow-wound.

  Then they all laughed and Grummoch said, ‘Dear little ones, you had better think about yourselves, for if you do not get better soon, it is you who will go overboard to feed the white chickens!’

  Yet, in spite of the laughter and taunting
, Radbard and Haro were well cared for by the sea-rovers, for they were brave comrades, and the first lesson a Viking learned was to stand by his shipmates through thick and thin.

  Haro’s arm had been broken in the cavern-fight, but was now set in splints and gave him little discomfort provided that he did not roll on to it in the night. When that happened, the other Vikings would clap their hands over their ears, in pretended horror at the things he would find to say.

  As for Radbard, his wound had been less dangerous than had at first appeared, for the arrow had passed through the muscle of the neck and not through his gullet. All the same, the wound gave him so much pain while it was healing that he could only speak softly and on a high note, like a little girl – which went comically with his great hairy beard and his fierce face.

  So it was, when they had stored their food and water under the afterdeck of the ship, and had packed the treasure down snugly below the maindeck, wrapping it round with sacking and sheepskins, that they prepared to set forth. The great weight of the gold they carried caused them to ride low in the water, and they needed no further ballast.

  ‘May Odin send us a safe crossing, without a storm,’ said Olaf Redeye, cousin to Haro, ‘for this is ballast which I would die for rather than fling overboard!’

  Giant Grummoch said pleasantly, ‘You are very concerned about my treasure, little Northman! What about me, the founder of the hoard, how do you think I feel about losing it to you?’

  Olaf said, ‘We have an old saying: “A clean shirt to a pig; gold to a Pict.” Neither of them understands the worth of such things, you see, Grummoch.’

  Grummoch said, ‘I cannot reach you, little Olaf, for these gyves stop my free movement; but if you will come here to me, I will take you by the hand and show you what a friend I can be to you.’

  He held out his massive hand, invitingly, but Olaf shook his head with a sly smile.

  ‘Nay, Grummoch,’ he said, ‘but I need this hand for rowing, I thank you! Perhaps we will shake hands when we land in my country, for then my six brothers will be there to see that you let go when I yell!’